


UNDER SUSPICION

by BellaGracie



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Coroner Annie, Dark Peeta, Detective Gale, Detective Katniss, Doctor Finnick, F/M, Police Superintendent Plutarch Heavensbee, Self-Harm, Sexism, Suspect Peeta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 16,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22436416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaGracie/pseuds/BellaGracie
Summary: Set in San Francisco.Dysfunctional Katniss and Hound Peeta.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 80
Kudos: 34





	1. SUSPECT A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss cuts herself.
> 
> Peeta is a playboy.
> 
> Gale is jealous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly re-posting a few of my fics. 
> 
> Thanks to those who read and leave comments.
> 
> This universe is another dark one, so please don't read unless you can take a self-cutting Katniss who is hiding A LOT but is also strongly attracted to Peeta Mellark, referred to in the case files as Suspect A.
> 
> Oh, and I took down THE HIT because it just wasn't clicking. Needed a bit of re-thinking.

He's handsome, in that boyish type of way Katniss likes so much. Gale is broody when they bring him in.

"You've got that look," Gale tells Katniss.

"What look?" Katniss says.

"You know, that I'm-so-horny look," Gate smirks.

Katniss hits him on his upper arm. Her hand aches for hours. "I'm not a perv," she says.

"That's how he does it," Gale says.

"Does what?" Katniss says.

"Gets women to trust him," Gale says. "I mean, just look at him. Sitting there."

Katniss looks. Mmm. Tight jeans and thick thighs. That earnest expression. Somehow, he feels Katniss looking at him. He coolly returns her gaze. Katniss blushes and turns her back. Unfortunately, Gale's seen it, too. The captured glances.

"You'd better ask to be pulled from this case, Catnip," he says.

"What? No. Why?"

"It's Cato.2. Not good."

"I'm a professional, Gale Hawthorne. And stop calling me Catnip. You make me sound about five years old."

* * *

It's a little past eight when Detective Katniss Everdeen finally pulls out the psychologist's assessment of Suspect A, aka Peeta Mellark.

It's a thin file: Suspect A only agreed to two sessions.

Katniss snorts at the psychologist's notes: Subject admitted to occasionally feeling "chaotic inside,"has a habit of using work to ward off anxieties, has difficulty articulating what's on his mind when worried, furious when he can't find a favorite T-shirt . . ."

As a teenager, subject was "unhappy, went through a phase of self-harming, suspicious of people for whom things have always gone well."

Katniss stops. Was this what Gale meant? That she and Suspect A had certain "affinities"? Was that why he was so reluctant to hand over the file?

Because it's there: the phase of "self-harming" ("Cutting," Katniss knows), the inherent distrust of "people for whom things have always gone well, dislikes carefree types."

Katniss shuts her eyes. Almost immediately, images bloom in her mind: Subject's arms, always covered by long-sleeved shirts. What would happen if she asked him to roll up his sleeves? What would she see?

She remembers how she used to cut and cut, how she began to savour the moment when little drops of blood began welling up. Even then, relief was rare.

How did Gale put it, during one of their early arguments: "withdrawn" and "hard to read." Now, "I don't mind much," Gale said. "I guess I've grown used to it."

Suddenly, she has a confused wish to help Suspect A. He resembles her, in her most damaged aspects. Now she has a chance to play a useful role in someone's life.

She turns to Suspect A's journal. He kept them in a safe in his bedroom. Two stacks of them, dating back over 10 years.

> **Christmas Day, 2012: Delly feels wrong. Or maybe it's that she feels a little too right. She is well-balanced, understanding, reliable, devoted -- this feels foreign and unearned, a pattern of frustration. Yet, I asked her to marry me and she accepted my proposal. I need to chase after more exciting others.**
> 
> **August 16, 2013: I care -- too much -- about the noises she makes while eating cereal or the**   
>  **silly magazines she insists on subscribing to. How logical that I find myself rejecting D's almost**   
>  **desperate attempts at intimacy -- she is too kind, too generous, too utterly predictable. For her**   
>  **part, she tells me she thinks she's married to a lunatic. She sounds scared. Scared and selfpitying.**

Katniss shuts the journal. She knows she will have to hunt down this Delly. Maybe this is something she can hand off to Gale. Her upper lip curls scornfully.

Suspect wasn't wearing a wedding ring. She hums thoughtfully as she prepares for bed.

* * *

"Hey, Catnip," Gale says, snapping Katniss out of her reverie. She'd gone to Working Girl Café for lunch, her go-to place when she wants to avoid Gale. He claims all the women there are "so butch."

He tosses a file on the table in front of her and looks at the menu behind the counter. "So, the pastrami any good? Or should I go for the Mandarin chicken salad?"

"What are you doing here?" Katniss scowls.

"Wife checks out," Gale tells her, pulling up a chair next to her. "There's a marriage license. Her maiden name was Delilah Deavers."

Gale's even managed to snag a photo of the woman: flowing blonde hair, green eyes, a smile that lights up her whole face.

"Delilah?" Katniss almost snorts out her Coke.

"That's rich, coming from someone who's named after a potato plant," Gale says.

"I was NOT named after a potato plant," Katniss hisses.

"Whatever. She's out of country. Re-married and moved to Paris two years ago."

"Think she'll have heard of the case?" Katniss asks.

"Hmm," Gale says, focusing intently on his kombucha. "Maybe. Hard to say."

"It's been on the nightly news for at least a month now."

"Yeah, but that doesn't necessarily mean Paris shows any interest . . . "

"I bet she knows," Katniss says.

* * *

Suspect A worked for the Ritz Carlton on Stockton and Pine. Miss Delilah Deavers managed a women's clothing store on Union Square that sold over-priced dresses and cardigans. Delilah dropped by his hotel one day, un-announced, and caught him in the penthouse suite with Johanna Hind, lead singer of the punk band Gemini. She aimed a fruit knife at his head and it grazed his left ear. The King-sized bed showed clear evidence of sexual activity (Katniss scowled) -- sperm on bedsheets, etc.

Ugh. Katniss presses fists into her eyes. Again, she stayed up all night, just reading Suspect A's files. She's sure she looks terrible. And today, she and Gale are finally going to ask Suspect A some questions.

* * *

"What happened to you?" Gale asks.

"What do you mean?" Katniss says, trying to balance her coffee with the files she stayed up all night reading.

"You look like you got run over by a truck."

"Thanks. Thanks for that."

"Are you ready?"

Katniss nods, and she and Gale enter the room together. Gale takes a chair against the wall. Suspect A is already seated, waiting at the table. Katniss moves slowly to take the chair across from him.

He's wearing a fine grey suit. Damn. It just makes the blue of his eyes seem bluer.

Katniss takes her time sitting down. Then she adjusts her earpiece and recites: "Mr. Mellark, you are here to answer some questions regarding the murder of Eva DeLancey. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You were advised that you may need a lawyer present."

Mellark smiles. "I don't need a lawyer. I'm happy to cooperate with you."

Katniss looks at the table. Right. Okay. She wasn't expecting that.

"On the -- " she hesitates. She can feel Gale's eyes boring into her and straightens up. "Could you tell us where you were on the night of Tuesday, July 16, 2015?"

"Sure," Mellark says, smiling again. "I was at IKEA. Shopping for a new bookcase."

"Which IKEA?" Katniss says.

"The one in Emeryville. It's the closest one to my apartment," he says.

"So you went to IKEA. What time approximately did you leave?" Katniss asks.

"About eight. I remember waiting till I was sure there wouldn't be so much traffic over the Bay Bridge."

"And then where did you go?"

"Home," Mellark says, showing a little surprise. "I had work the next day."

* * *

Two hours later, they let Suspect A go. Katniss is so covered in sweat she can't stand it. She can smell her own stink. She's almost to the women's room when Gale stops her with a hand on her arm.

"What?" she snarls, yanking her arm away.

"That wasn't too bad," Gale says. "Why are you so upset?"

"Shhh! Lower your voice!" Katniss hisses, looking around in alarm. Too late! She's almost sure Mellark -- Suspect A -- has heard him. Since he's still standing in the corridor, just a few yards away. Looking at her.

Katniss addresses him: "Can I help you?"

"I always get turned around in these places," Mellark says, with a shrug. "Can you point me in the direction of the exit?"

Katniss glares. "It's that way," she says, pointing.

* * *

The good thing is, that night Katniss is so tired that she just falls into bed. She falls asleep after a few minutes. When she next opens her eyes, there's sunlight coming through the curtains. She looks at the clock: it's 7 a.m.

She flips on the TV and drags herself off the bed, listening vaguely to some chatter about ski resorts and snow conditions in Tahoe.

She's walking to her car when she hears him:

"Something happened to you as a child, didn't it?"

She whips around, and he's there, right hand in the pocket of his (if she had to guess: designer) jeans, slouched against a pillar of the underground garage, giving her that smile.

Katniss hates, really hates, the fact that the first thought that pops into her head when she sees him is: _Are you still fucking Johanna?_

She almost says "Hello," as if he were an old friend who she's unexpectedly bumped into. Here. In her parking garage. She has to remind herself that this is not, and can never be, an ordinary conversation. Because he, Peeta Mellark of the killer smile, is Suspect A.

She tries to tell herself, borrowing a word from her therapist, it's transference. Because she's lonely. Because she's enraged. Because it's been 10 months and three weeks since Cato broke up with her. And he looks just like Suspect A. Blonde hair, blue eyes.


	2. A ROOKIE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Bullying, Verbal Abuse, (Implied) Self-Harm
> 
> Backstory on the relationship between Katniss and Cato

"So, what do you think?" Katniss says to her supervisor.

"Mm," Plutarch says, looking distractedly over the piles of paper on his desk.

Katniss has known Plutarch a long time. He was there for her when her father was killed during a routine traffic stop for an expired registration tag. Turned out the man driving the old Civic had just robbed a local Wells Fargo. Katniss's father never stood a chance: shot twice at point blank range, he was dead within minutes.

Plutarch had attended the funeral: he was one of her father's closest friends. He'd kept his arm over Katniss's shoulder the whole time. There was no question in her mind that she would follow in her father's footsteps. If only to avenge her father's murder.

And she had done it: barreled her way through the Academy, aced all the tests, outperformed everyone on the obstacle course. Nothing, however, had prepared her for the hot breath on her ear. She didn't have to turn her head to know who it was: the hulking blonde training officer, Cato. _Everdeen, you're going to get raped._

Katniss didn't flinch. But it was hard to get Cato's voice out of her head, even now.

Had Cato known? Of course he had known. The spidery scars over Katniss's legs, just above her knees. She'd caught him staring at her legs, once or twice.

Cato didn't try starting anything with Katniss until after the training. _He's done this before_ , Katniss remembers thinking. _He knows exactly how far to push the boundaries._

She blinks and tries to push the memory away. She leans forward and repeats, loudly, "What do you think?"

"You've always been one of my best detectives, Katniss," Plutarch says. "Top of your class at the Academy. Got the masters in Social Psychology while a rookie. Don't ruin my faith in you now."

When Katniss only stares, Plutarch continues: "Gale told me about your -- recent distractions."

* * *

Plutarch's office door is yanked open.

"-- cannot do this to me!" Everyone in the office raises their heads and looks at the door.

Katniss stalks out, her dark eyes flashing. Gale is quick to run interference.

"Not now," she grits out.

"What'd he do, take away your lollipop?" Gale says and chuckles loudly when Katniss glares at him.

Katniss comes to a full stop and rounds on him. "You are a nasty, nasty, evil, gutless -- "

"Okay," Gale says, tugging her quickly through the nearest doorway. Which turns out to be the door to a broom closet. "What'd he do? Spill!"

Katniss crosses her arms over her chest. "What do you _think_?"

"He put you over his knee and spanked you?"

"How dare you! How dare you! I can't believe you told him about Cato!"

"What? I didn't tell him about Cato!"

"Oh yeah, then how'd he know about the -- the --" she stops, decides she shouldn't go into it. Changes tack: "You know Plutarch and I have always had this kind of father-daughter relationship, ever since my father died. And you decided to manipulate it. You, of all people! I thought you were my friend, Gale! Friends don't go behind each other's backs and -- "

"Will you just cut to the chase? What did Plutarch say?"

"According to his philosophy, I'm too naive to be put on the case. In fact, he says he's going to give you a new partner!"

"Yeah?" Gale says, the smirk dropping from his face. "Who?"

"Sorry to break your heart, Gale, but it's not going to be female."

"Really?" Gale says.

The door opens suddenly and Gale and Katniss cringe. "What are the two of you doing in here?" Marvel yells, with a wide grin on his face. "This isn't Truth or Dare time, is it?"

* * * * *

Katniss doesn't want to read anymore but, frankly, his journals are like a drug:

> **September 7, 2013: Good listeners are like a drug. And I'm a very very good listener. You** **have to have a high degree of confidence to be a good listener. That's what Johanna tells me,** **anyway.**
> 
> **October 18, 2013: Delly says it embarrasses her that she's always the one asking for sex. She** **says it makes her feel dependent and needy. Just one more way in which she feels I control** **her. I tell her that I find it refreshing, that she's so candid about her needs. I always satisfy her** **when she asks. She starts to cry. I think our relationship is ludicrous.**

Is that so, Mr. Suspect A? Katniss thinks. Unconsciously, she crosses her arms over her chest.

Suddenly, her room feels very warm. Even though it's November, she decides to crack open her window. Even then, she stays awake.

She thinks of the women in his journals. There are some who are very childlike. But she is sure they are all at least in their 20s: college graduates, with jobs. He is smart in that way.

She thinks of the murder victim. Eva. Katniss has to remind herself to name the dead woman. Otherwise, it's like she'll be killed twice over: once when her life was taken, a second time when she became Case # xx-0xxx.

The first time Katniss saw Eva was on an autopsy table. She had paper-white skin, but that might just have been post-mortem. She had thick, long red hair. There was a three-inch scar on the right side of her neck. What?

"Sweet and fragile" was how her fellow teachers described her. Taught second grade for two years. How would Suspect A have met her? Her school was on Fulton, clear across the city from the Ritz Carlton. Maybe one night at a bar. Saturday night. To celebrate a special occasion. A birthday, perhaps.

People tend to be nicer to childlike women. At least, they are, in Katniss's opinion. Look at Madge, Gale's ex-wife. Promiscuous, vulnerable, Gale once described her to Katniss as "pure."

Katniss, on the other hand, is not. Definitely not pure. She and Cato . . .

When she hooked up with Cato, she was a 21-year-old virgin, scared and clumsy. He was aggressive. Too aggressive.

Katniss imagines Mellark -- Suspect A -- sidling up to Eva at a bar. Eva smiling at him, encouraging his advances. He IS handsome, there's no denying. Even just in jeans and a long-sleeved henley. Those powerful-looking thighs . . .

Katniss swallows and tries to put the thoughts out of her mind. Her building has a 24-hour gym, thank God. An hour later, she's panting, pressing an ice-cold bottle of water against the back of her neck. She relishes the feel of the cold against her sweat-slick skin. Her mind clears. Maybe, she thinks, maybe there's still a chance she can persuade Plutarch to put her back on the case. Gale has been crawling around the department like a whipped puppy, giving her remorseful glances. Good. Maybe he can talk to Plutarch, too.

She stretches and stands, giving a yawning moan of pleasure at the feel of the stretch in her back. She doesn't remember there being anyone else around -- it's almost midnight, after all -- but suddenly she's aware of a heavy tread, off in the corner where the weights are. Hyper-alert, she whirls around and stares at the place where she thought the sound came from. It's suddenly quiet. Eerily quiet.

She waits a beat or two longer, then shrugs.

 _Cool it, Everdeen_ , she thinks. _This case is starting to give you the jitters._

She walks slowly to the elevators, ears pricked up, listening. The old Katniss would have gone back in there, for sure. She'd have sniffed around every corner until she was satisfied those sounds she'd heard weren't the sound of a man lurking out of sight.

But since Cato, she's a new Katniss. She hates the thought. Suddenly -- fuck! -- the bad thoughts are back.

A low voice says, "What's your game, Everdeen?"

It's _HIM_!

Katniss whirls again, a response bubbling on her lips.

"You're protecting someone," he says wryly. His sweat-drenched T-shirt clings to him. Damn, damn, damn him!

She's vibrating, a coiled spring of energy, ready to flee or pounce.

"I'm going to have to talk to the super about improving security around here," she says, and turns. _Good girl, that's good, just keep walking._

The elevator doors ding open. Just before getting in, she spares a quick glance over her shoulder. He's draped a towel over his head but she can still see those blue eyes fastened on her, sizing her up.

_Does she turn him on? Does he think she's hot?_

She takes her time in the shower, focusing on her nipples and between her legs.

She doesn't tell Gale about the encounter with Suspect A. Why should she anyway? It would just complicate her life; It's annoying the way Gale insists on acting like her protector. But they are partners, and isn't that what partners do, protect each other?

Katniss shivers, basking in the feeling that she is being watched. By him. She doesn't need protecting. Of course not.


	3. A BODY AT REST

Peeta -- _No, Suspect A_ \-- lives in one of the new-ish apartment buildings off the Embarcadero. It's not the ugliest building, but it's mostly an expanse of steel and glass that Katniss thinks is part of the reason San Francisco is losing its charm.

She's been here a few times already. Why can't she stop thinking of him? She hasn't seen him since that night in her building's gym. It's been almost a month. And tonight she feels so lonely. So -- lost, really.

* * *

Plutarch called her into his office this morning. “How's the case going?”

“We’re checking surveillance cameras right now,” she said.

“Let me know if you find anything,” Plutarch said.

“Of course,” Katniss said.

* * *

It's quiet on the street. She sighs, starts up her car, peels away from the curb. What was she expecting?

Get a grip, Katniss.

She likes to watch.

The next night and the next night and the next night, and sometimes mornings, too, and then she sees him. It's a Sunday, early. He looks sleepy, his skin still hot from yesterday's sun, when the blonde sat in his lap, and they kissed, out on the pool deck. Katniss watched until her eyes ached.

His body is familiar now: nothing is concealed in his swimsuit. It's thrilling to watch him dress, watch him obscure muscle and limb. And then Suspect A is dry, and ready, his arms wrapped in long sleeves -- yes, she did see the marks. They are there. Apparently he doesn't care enough to cover them up. Except for when he's talking to the police. He doesn't bother parting his hair. He (and often a she) walk across the damp grass to the building entrance. Katniss watches until she can't see him anymore, not even a blur moving behind glass windows.

* * * *

"Catnip!" Gale comes barging in. She hates when he calls her that.

She keeps on chewing on her nails as she looks over a file at her desk. Suspect A’s file. Again.

The picture she’d been looking at when Gale barged in showed Suspect A in track pants and hoodie. Where was it taken? Even dressed like this, he looks good. The hoodie stretches tight across his shoulders, and the track pants cling to his narrow hips. Somehow, she’s conscious again of the ketchup stain she got on her uniform during lunch. Even though he can’t see, and who cares anyway, it’s just the precinct …

He let them take a cheek swab. His DNA wasn’t in her. That’s why they let him go.

Katniss frowns. Think, girl, think!

They had a right to hold Suspect A for 48 hours, but that was when he lawyered up.

She sighs. She can't wait to get home so she can crawl into bed and watch all the previous season's episodes of _Ripper Street_. She'll fantasize about going to London, about staying in a little bed-sit off one of those leafy squares.

Gale’s mouth in her ear: "Outside Working Girl Café? Dead body."

She's up like a shot. Who is she kidding? She cares. Too damn much.

*. *. *

The thing about a body is: it's almost never at rest. When it's alive, that is. When it's dead, as this body most certainly is, it is completely, completely still. Which is wrong because -- it's face down on the sidewalk. At 5 p.m. On Bush Street. People are still walking by as Katniss bends over the body. There's an eddy of voices around her. She hardly hears.

The woman's neatly dressed. She works in an office. One shoe's off. The one she's still wearing is a Nine West. Stockings. Black pencil skirt. Button-down shirt. Fine silk scarf, blue.

Why? Katniss feels a kind of anger come over her. Woman's dark-haired. Young. She clenches her fist. Could have been her.

It's almost midnight when she and Gale finish up, but she feels she can't leave the body alone. It's lonely, it's missed. Her phone -- her phone would give them clues but it's not on her.

The woman had her Clipper Card in one curled fist, and she would have made it to the #45 Stockton if she'd just managed to stay alive for 10 more minutes. She might even have scared the attacker off, if she'd managed to get to the stop, which usually has a long line of people waiting at this time of the afternoon. It’s on the edge of Chinatown. Most of the people at the stop would be Asian, and elderly. Probably no help against an attacker but, still, there would have been an outcry. There would have been commotion.

Katniss looks into the nearest trash cans to see if there’s anything in there – a knife, maybe? The contents of the cans are stomach-churning, but she has to do it. And there’s nothing.

The yellow tape is up on the sidewalk. Over and over, she peers at the gutters. Nope, nothing there, either.

Great, after an hour there are camera crews. “Step back!” Katniss growls. She has to put a hand up against a camera lens. “Don’t you point that thing in my face!” she yells. She grimaces. She hopes that doesn’t get on the nightly news. With her luck, it will.

Katniss has to remind herself what day of the week it is. Oh, right. Wednesday. She was just thinking about that before Gale came rushing in. Wednesdays are good. They're practically the weekend. Afterwards, when things have calmed down a bit, and the body's been taken away, Gale points at Katniss's sweater. "You got her blood on you," he says.

Katniss looks down at herself. "Oh, that?" she says, distractedly. "Ketchup stain. Lunch."

Gale gives her a funny look.

* * * * *

There's a pool on the top floor of the Police Building. If she can, Katniss tries to get there early. Ads line the walls: Colgate, Pepsi, Tylenol, Berkeley Farms. She swims and swims, swims until she feels a familiar burn in the muscles of her back. Good. She likes pain.

Sometimes Gale appears, stands over the pool, looking at her. Usually, he only shows up after she's limp with fatigue. She pulls herself from the pool with difficulty, feeling her arms and legs boneless. She pulls on a T-shirt over her damp suit, smiles at him but only if she feels like it. He hands her a towel, which she usually ignores. He'll tug on her braid; she hates that, swipes at his hand. The tugging of the braid is like him calling her Catnip -- a form of ownership.

They used to get along, she and Gale. She remembers trips with their families, to Monterey or Pismo. She and Gale lying side by side on beach towels or splashing in the waves. The sun burning her arms, her shoulders.

Sometimes, the two of them just stood in the waves, feeling the water push gently around them.

And then, the drive home with their families, their backs and shoulders smarting from too much sun.

Her father was still alive then. Katniss still had a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Katniss has self-esteem issues and now she's definitely attracted to Suspect A.


	4. ANOTHER BODY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little different from the original version. I put together two different chapters, added the bit about Plutarch's birthday party.

She's having dinner that night -- butter on toasted bread, herbal tea with a bit of cream -- and flips to the news. It's the first news item: a body being carried out of an apartment building -- is that Bush Street? Right above the tattoo parlor? -- on a gurney. She raises the volume. Every hair on her arms is standing.

_Paramedics found the body of Nicola Holland, 29, with serious head injuries when they were called to an apartment above a tattoo parlor on Bush Street. A couple who were returning home from a party at 3 a.m. heard what sounded like a woman calling for help from the apartment. Paramedics were unable to revive Ms. Holland and she was pronounced dead at the scene._

Her heart is pounding, painfully loud. Could it be him? The newscast continues:

 _A 32-year-old man who shared the apartment is being held for questioning. He is being detained_ _under section X of the Criminal Justice Act which allows police to hold a suspect for up to 24_ _hours._

Katniss's sigh of relief is so profound, it disturbs her. Why should she feel such relief? Why should she even care that it's not Suspect A?

Katniss walks into the station at half past eight. Gale's there already. "Geez, Catnip, up all night again?" he says.

* * *

Katniss hates spring for many reasons. But foremost among them is the fact that Plutarch’s birthday is April, and hers follows in May. Somehow, everyone’s gotten used to the idea of Plutarch throwing a party. And it just makes her seem even more pathetic when May comes around and she never does anything special. Doesn’t even take the day off.

Plutarch's taking them all out to Japanese food for his birthday. Katniss wants to beg off, but she can’t. She can’t say no to Plutarch, but she’s been dreading this day for months.

"Which restaurant?" Katniss asks Plutarch.

“Why?” Plutarch asks.

“I’ll meet up with you later,” Katniss says.

“You can’t be late,” Plutarch says. “Its’ my birthday.”

“Really, Plu? You know I – “

“I expect you there at party start time,” Plutarch says. “You can drown yourself in sake after.”

* * *

Plutarch’s booked a private room at the restaurant. They and 10 other cops from their precinct sit cross-legged on tatami mats. Waitresses deliver bowls of miso soup and small bowls of daikon salad and trays of sashimi.

Katniss doesn’t relax until the toasts. Then, she drinks so much sake, she can barely stand. Gale offers to take her home, but he’s plastered. Plutarch takes her arm and says, “I’ll take you.” Katniss insists she can call an Uber but he shakes his head. “You’re not my father,” Katniss says, drunk and swaying. “I know I’m not,” Plutarch says. “But just this once, stop being stubborn, okay?” And she’s grateful, she really is.

* * *

"They determined cause of death on the Jane Doe," Gale tells her. He'd had another partner for -- oh, about a week. Then Plutarch had relented. He and Katniss were a team again. Much to Gale's relief.

"Which Jane Doe?" Katniss says, irritably. She hates the use of terms like Jane Doe. She actually thought they'd managed to attach proper names to all the dead bodies this week.

"The one we found face down on the sidewalk, Wednesday," Gale says, pulling a chair up to her desk and straddling it, with his long, muscular arms draped over the back.

This is a very distracting position. Basically, Gale is doing "the tease" again -- has the talk about her really been so bad?

"So what was it?" she snaps, trying her best to keep her eyes on his face. It's not that much of a struggle. She already knows what's down there, and it's nothing compared to --

"Talked to the coroner. She was on a cocktail of prescription drugs," Gale says.

"What?" Katniss says.

"Yup. Strange, but there it is. 38, lived alone, took Oxycontin, Naproxen, one other I forget, think it was anti-epileptic. They were all present in her system. She just stopped breathing."

"So," Katniss says, frowning. "She managed almost a full day's work, even with all those drugs running through her system, left a little early, then crashed just before she got to her bus stop."

"Apparently."

This almost breaks Katniss's heart. Almost.

"What about the blood?"

"Oh, yeah, she hit her head on something when she went down."

"So has her family been told?"

"Zopiclone."

"What?"

"That was the last drug."

Katniss knows it. She takes it herself. It's like diazepam, or like Valium.

"Contact the doctor who gave her all these prescriptions?"

"Not yet, but we will."

"Was she in some kind of program?"

"What do you mean?" Gale asks.

"Some of those -- drugs you mentioned. They're anti-anxiety."

Gale gives her a long look. Katniss gets up abruptly. "Where are you going?" Gale asks.

"I'm going to speak to the coroner."

"What for? I just told you her findings."

Katniss doesn't answer.

* * *

That night, she walks from her apartment all the way to Ocean Beach. She’s not worried about walking here late at night. The cold keeps even the worst types away, most content to go for the easy pickings around Union Square. Which means she’s alone, or as close to alone as she can be. She walks down the highway to the Beach Chalet, which is crowded, the parking lot full of SUVs and Teslas. She stares out over the water. There are one or two illegal bonfires but she’s not in police mode now, she’ll let those people be.

Voices carry along the sand. She hears whispers, laughs.

_Wonder what he's doing now?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Peeta in this chapter (sigh). Stay tuned, he's coming up next.


	5. SUSPECT A POINT OF VIEW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suspect A takes a date to the Beach Chalet on the Great Highway and sees Detective Katniss Everdeen out on a late-night run.
> 
> Oh, did I mention that Detective Everdeen has trouble sleeping?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have a Suspect A point of view chapter in the original version, so this is a total experiment.

PEETA

She was there, wearing a navy parka and faded jeans. What was she doing there? I was with a date, we were walking to my car when my date -- I can't even remember her name -- suddenly insisted on crossing the Great Highway and walking barefoot on the sand dunes. She was drunk, and flirtatious, and leaned her whole body against me, and I wasn’t amused. I wanted to get her to my bed – quickly. And then I saw her: Detective Katniss Everdeen, walking along the curve of beach, lost in thought.

It was cold; she was walking with her shoulders hunched and both hands thrust deep into the pockets of her parka. She didn’t see me, but I saw her all right. To shut up my date, who wouldn’t stop laughing, I pulled her to me and kissed her hard. But all the while, I had one eye over the woman’s shoulder, looking at Detective Everdeen, looking and looking while she walked towards the Cliff House.

The Great Highway goes steeply uphill there. I watched her go, not slowed at all by the incline. She stopped a few yards before the restaurant and stared at the patrons laughing and eating behind the floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows. What was she thinking?

It was one of those rare, clear, San Francisco nights. The surf was loud. Sometimes, on sunny days, you can see sea lions draped over the boulders. Tourists love the place. But now, tonight, most patrons were inside.

Did she live somewhere near here?

Was this her usual nighttime routine? Walking along the Great Highway, close to midnight?

* * *

I saw her there again, a few nights later. This time I was alone. I followed a few yards behind. Again she headed for the Cliff House. But this time, instead of stopping, she walked on and on, then made a left. Ah! I thought. Of course. Land’s End.

She was almost to the Legion of Honor. The Monterey pines raised shadowy claws to the inky sky. A woman could get lost there, among the trees. No one would know.

I grew angry at her lack of concern for her personal safety. I walked up to her. She had her back turned, but suddenly she whirled and looked straight at me. So, she had made me. How far back, I wondered?

“Did you know this used to be a cemetery?” I said.

She curled her upper lip. I couldn’t stop staring at her mouth. “Don’t come any closer,” she said.

I raised my eyes. The look on her face was hard, cold. Had she seen me that other night, when I was with that other woman? Maybe she had.

“There are 150 bodies buried in this hillside. They built the museum right on top of them.”

“Yeah, right,” she said.

“It’s true,” I said.

“Of course YOU would know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said.

“No date this evening?” she said. Without waiting for an answer, she turned her back and continued walking uphill.

“Why do you care so much?” I said to her retreating back.

She didn’t turn her head.

KATNISS

The therapist said regular exercise would help. She told me a lot of things would help. Sometimes, I go to the gym, but that night I wanted to breathe in the brisk night air. So I walked to Ocean Beach.

And I saw him. He was with a blonde. They were walking across the sand dunes, the woman obviously drunk and lurching against him.

I didn’t think he saw me. I went home and sat in a hot bath until the water grew cold. Then I made myself some chamomile tea. I tried to read a little. An Agatha Christie mystery, which is about as bland as you can get. Then I stayed awake, listening to the clock on the bedside table ticking.

I wanted to sleep. I needed to sleep. But I couldn’t.

A few nights later, I went back to Ocean Beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tweaking the next chapter. We'll meet Annie, who works for Forensics. The chapter will stick closely to Katniss's point of view. I'm still following the original story, but adding some descriptive details so the chapters are longer.


	6. NORMAL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm still sticking to the original story, but expanding each chapter as I go along.
> 
> Let me know if you're finding something really disjointed? I'm picking apart some scenes and scattering bits of them over several chapters.

Coroner Annie Cresta is petite, fragile-looking. But she's anything but. Patiently, even though she just gave the report to Gale, she summarises what she noted: "All were legit prescriptions, by the way. Each of those drugs was at an acceptable dosage. But, cumulatively, they had a depressive effect on her nervous system, which affected her breathing. The cause of death was central nervous system repression."

Katniss is back at her desk when she begins to wonder, absently, what happened to the woman's phone? This detail slips her mind, later. Phones get lifted all the time.

* * *

Katniss sits on her tattered living room couch, waiting for the evening news. Watching the evening news is when she does a lot of her best thinking, go figure. It's something normal people do. But Katniss hasn’t felt normal in a very long time.

Her most recent encounter with Suspect A – she can’t stop thinking about it. He’d obviously followed her. How many nights had he been waiting?

She starts to shiver. Not with fear. No, it’s from something else entirely. When he confronted her, she wasn’t afraid. She had known, somehow, that he wouldn’t hurt her.

He was wearing jeans and a hoodie, the cowl pulled low so she couldn’t quite see his eyes. And he told her that weird thing about bodies buried beneath the Legion of Honor. She’d looked it up later and found out he was right.

_Danger, Everdeen! Danger!_

If she were a normal woman, like her mother, she would have a house, and a garden, and plant flowers. She would have children. She wouldn’t be a cop. Normal women weren’t cops.

She closes her eyes, slumps back on the ratty couch. She’s just decided to light one of her scented candles – the expensive one she got from a store in the Ferry Building a month or so ago. It cost $25. She never usually goes into one of those fancy shops, but that day she’d just looked at the body of a dead woman on Stockton Street. So she felt entitled to a little self-care.

She brought it home and left it on the coffee table to mock her. She didn’t have money to throw around. She’s not like those fancy people up on Nob Hill. Fuck, though. Might as well use it tonight. She’s just going to the kitchen for a match when someone knocks loudly at her door.

The sound is so unexpected that she bangs her knee on the coffee table.

 _Fuck_!

"Who is it?" she yells.

No answer. She bets it's the super. He doesn't like her, for some reason. But he wouldn't bang on her door at -- she glances at her watch -- 8:58 p.m. Or would he? She fumbles for the remote -- it's fallen on the floor -- and mutes the TV. God does she hate the super. His name is Flavius. Flavius! Most of the time he bangs on her door when he thinks -- guesses -- he'll have the chance to catch her in her gym clothes, her tank top barely covering her midriff. She considers ignoring him but he'll just keep banging. She gets up and walks to the door.

"Is it the recycling bin again?" she yells. "I'm sorry, I’ll do better. And, um --" She's at the door but yells through it, still reluctant to open it -- "can't this wait till tomorrow? I’m about to go to bed." (Pathetic, Everdeen!)

Finally, after one last check to make sure her shirt is pulled down and no skin is showing, she pulls open the door. Too late she realizes she didn't even check through the peephole. The man staring at her, with a grey hoodie and grey sweatpants slung low -- dangerously low -- on his hips is none other than --

"How’d you get in here?" she asks, outraged. Her piece is on the coffee table. And it's too late, of course, because Suspect A is there, right there, his chest only inches from hers, and she can almost feel him. Almost. She feels that sick want. Trouble is, he can feel it, too.

“Flavius,” he says, cool as can be. “The Super?”

“He’s not supposed to let you in; you’re not a resident of this building!”

“Told him I was moving in,” Suspect A says.

Katniss gasps. “You’re NOT!”

“Well,” Suspect A says, “He knows I’m the manager of the Ritz Carlton. Showed him my ID and everything. Said I had stored a few things in your place. He was very impressed at the kind of people you’ve been hanging around with, Detective.”

"That little worm!" Katniss says. “I’m going to have it out with him, right now.”

“Not so fast,” Suspect A says. His manner changes suddenly. He seems almost contrite.

_Asshole! Don’t let him get to you, Katniss!_

“What’s a manager of the Ritz Carlton doing in my building," she sneers. "Stalking is a crime, didn’t your fancy lawyer tell you that?”

“I’m not stalking you. You’re stalking _me_. You don’t think I know you’ve been watching my apartment, you don’t think I saw you sitting in your car out there? I’ve been cleared, I’m no longer on your suspect list. My lawyer knows, too. If anything happens to me …”

She tries to dropkick him but he's too quick, just pushes his hips straight against hers and she's so buzzed all she can do is gasp. He has both hands behind her, gripped in one hand. She throws her full weight against him but he doesn't budge. His other hand pushes a strand of hair off her face. She turns her face away.

"Ah-ah-ah," Suspect A says, with a smirk. "You’re not as quick as you think. I saw you eyeing me and my blonde friend the other day. Almost went all the way with her just because I knew it would get a rise out of you. But, on second thought, I didn't feel like slumming."

“Fuck you!” Katniss screams.

“That can be arranged,” he says with a smirk. “I’m going to let you go now, just to prove to you I’m acting in good faith. You know, if you really want to sleep with me, all you have to do is ask.”

Slowly, he releases her and steps back. Katniss lunges forward, but he’s expecting the attack. In one fluid motion, he grabs her wrists and pins them to the wall above her head. He's strong, too strong. He pins her in place with his entire length.

She glares. She spits. But all he does is smile and wipe his face with his sleeve.

“What are you doing all by yourself, Katniss Everdeen,” he says softly. “A girl as beautiful as you. You should be a little more careful. Your windows are always open, plate glass. Anyone can look right through them. If I were you, I’d invest in some curtains. I like the candle, though. Nice touch.” He presses his nose against her throat and Katniss goes rigid. “Yes," he sighs against her throat, "you should talk to the Super.”

“I’m hauling your ass in. Don’t think I won’t!” she grits out.

“Please do,” he whispers. “I think I’d rather enjoy that.”

He releases her, and this time Katniss dives back into her apartment. She's going to get her piece and knock the asshole out, once and for all.

By the time she dashes out her door, the hall’s empty.

_Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_

She heads to the stairwell and peers down. Nothing. She listens for the sound of steps. Also nothing. She dashes back to the hallway and startles an older woman just exiting her unit. The woman's eyes go straight to Katniss's gun and she freezes.

"Don't worry, I'm a cop," Katniss says.

The woman quickly re-enters her unit and slams the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Detective Everdeen busts Mellark's ass!
> 
> Umm, no. But they do have more charged interactions.
> 
> And next chapter is twice as long as this one.
> 
> And the one after that's a long one, too.
> 
> I'm on a roll!


	7. BRUISES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Effie is a Madam. She also runs a do-nut shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything (or almost everything, anyway) is new (Except for Suspect A's interview)
> 
> I know nothing about police business, and am sure I'm making gazillion mistakes.

Her wrists are braceleted by the results of her run-in with Suspect A the other night. She thought her long sleeves were long enough, but clearly they aren’t.

His hands were so strong. Every time she looks at her wrists, she remembers the way he pressed his body into hers, the moment when he buried his face in her throat. She feels branded by his touch. She’d wanted to – she’d wanted to – grab his hair and pull his face up to hers and feel his tongue in her mouth. She’d wanted it so much. Which meant, probably, that he’d felt her want, too. Men can always smell it on her. That want.

Gale’s suddenly leaning over her desk, trying to tease her into tearing her eyes from her computer screen. She ignores him until, without warning, he grabs her wrist.

"What's this?"

When Katniss takes a little too long to answer, Gale asks, "How did you get these?"

“None of your business,” she says, and tugs her wrist away.

Gale gives her a calculating look. “You been playing rough with Cato again?”

“Fuck you.”

“Or someone else.”

"Fuck off," Katniss hisses. “I’ve got work to do, which clearly you don’t.”

"Excuse me for caring," Gale says. Then, without missing a beat: "Anything more on Suspect A?"

Oh, he’s good. He can read me like a book.

"Nope. He’s been cleared. Now leave me the fuck alone."

Gale leans over her shoulder. Too close. She hates his cologne. He’s reading off her screen.

“The weather report?” He fake gasps and looks at her. “Why are you reading the weather report?”

Katniss blacks out her screen and turns to face him. “What do you want?”

Before he can answer, Plutarch appears and calls everyone in for a meeting. Katniss makes sure to shut her computer down before heading over to the conference room. She’s lucky: he didn’t see what she was really looking at before she tapped on the Weather tab she always keeps open on her computer.

She follows Gale into the conference room. Plutarch and about half the officers are seated at a round table. Everyone nods glumly at her as she enters the room. There’s an atmosphere of tension. They had to let Suspect A go and there is no Suspect B. Or even Suspect C. The press has been reaming the department for days.

Katniss finds a seat, as far from Gale as she can manage. She takes a quick glance at Plutarch. He looks gaunt, suddenly. She knows he has a tough meeting ahead of him, since murder rates are up this year and the Mayor’s been blaming SFPD. Plutarch’s putting on a brave face, chit-chatting to cops on either side. Marvel bursts in with a large pink box: Special Delivery from Effie’s! Oooh! Effie owns a venerable donut shop on Post. She’s also got a sideline as the manager of a high-end escort service. Cops turn a blind eye to the other operation because, heck, this is San Francisco. Effie’s has been the department’s go-to place for sugary snacks in forever. There’s a marked lessening of tension as the box gets passed around. What a great idea, Katniss thinks, to sweeten this otherwise miserable meeting.

They gather around a table and for a minute there is an awkward silence. Plutarch clears his throat and looks at her, like he's waiting for her to start off. What? Why? It suddenly occurrs to her that she is lucky to have Plutarch in her corner, because he will never throw her under the bus, not even with her distinct lack of people skills and her simmering anger issues. She clears her throat and launches into the clues she's chasing down for the murder of Eva DeLancey. She talks about why they've eliminated Suspect A, and why it was taking longer than usual to track down the perps. Then Marvel begins his update (He's been staking out the apartment of a known drug dealer, Coriolanus Snow, because they’d received a tip about a severed hand in the alley behind). Then everyone else updates, and then two hours pass. Katniss leaves the meeting thinking, well, that was a complete waste of time.

Gale’s still watching her. She doesn't want him to think she's upset. Well, she is, but she can't show him how much. She needs this job. This job is her life. She has to show she can handle it. Every police precinct has its share of assholes.

She pulls her sleeves down over her wrists, frowns, and pretends to be reading again. Gale wanders away from her desk -- but he's still keeping an eye on her, she can feel it -- She needs this job. Shit, she deserves this job. Highest grades in the Academy, trounced everyone in hand to hand. She can't handle a sexy suspect?

* * *

The next time she sees Peeta Mellark -- check, Suspect A -- he's wearing a white button-down that tapers snugly over his waist, and a skinny black tie that happens to rest right above his, uh -- Ugh. He really rocks this look. Focus, Katniss. Focus!

“Whose red Tesla is that out front?” Gale says, coming into the room.

“Mine,” Suspect A says.

“You have a permit to park there? You’ll be towed otherwise.”

“Oh,” Peeta says, looking confused. “I thought that space was marked Police Business.”

“Police Business as in, COPS,” Gale sneers. “Move it.”

“Gale,” Katniss says, “Can you dial it back?” She turns to Peeta. “I apologize. He’s a little territorial. That’s usually where he parks.”

Gale snorts. “I had to park clear across the lot, and it’s raining.”

* * *

Gale is more of a dick than usual during the suspect interview.

“What am I doing here, Detective?” Peeta asks softly, at the start of his interview. “You kept me for two hours last time, and I answered every single one of your questions.”

“There were a few anomalies in your information last time,” Gale says. Then he launches into the standard routine: "Mr. Mellark, could you tell us -- me and Detective Everdeen, here -- what you were doing on Tuesday the 10th of March?"

"We've been over this, Detectives," Peeta says, leaning forward slightly. The way his shirt stretches across his broad shoulders when he leans forward . . . His eyes catch hers and he gives her smirk. Cocky as you please. “Though I would be crazy to turn down an interview with Detective Everdeen.”

"One more time, please, if you wouldn't mind," Gale says.

"Well," Peeta says, leaning back in his chair. "I was walking my stiff."

"Your -- what?" Katniss bursts out.

"My stiff. My dog."

"I see."

"A mastiff."

"Gotcha." Katniss's face turns pink.

When they go over this footage later, she'll be the laughing stock of the department. "I was walking my stiff." Classic.

“You’ll note I didn’t feel it necessary to have my lawyer,” Peeta says. “I am doing my utmost to cooperate with your investigation.”

“Sure,” Gale says.

"I may be -- cruel. I've been called that, by my ex-wife primarily. But I don't beat women. And I certainly don't murder them.”

There is silence. Peeta clears his throat and then says, “The diaries. I’d like them back, please.”

“Entered as evidence in the case,” Gale says. “Request denied.”

Peeta’s right eyebrow goes up. “Does that mean I’m still a suspect?”

“Affirmative.”

* * *

Katniss sits at her desk, gazing numbly at her notes. The entry Gale read aloud, 30 minutes in:

**Mar. 12, 2014: I was nearly 19, terrified, anxious, sad, scared and relieved visiting my father’s grave for the first time. It was a six-year long journey to get there and in that moment, I have never wished harder than to see him one last time, exactly as I remember him as a child.**

She saw how Peeta recoiled, as if he’d been slapped. The thing is, he’d thrown an accusatory glance her way. Gale seemed to take a sick pleasure in that. Then he brought up Peeta’s relationship with his abusive mother.

"What the fuck was that, Gale?" Katniss says, her face stormy.

"What the fuck was what?" he snaps back.

“You know what the fuck was what. Jesus!”

“Don’t be such a Drama Queen, Everdeen. I know Suspect A’s gotten under your skin, but – “

Katniss clenches her fists, tries to even her tone. “You haven’t established relevance. The diaries.”

“Oh, really? The guy’s a mess. I think that’s pretty well established.”

“So? Let him plead insanity. What do you care?”

“Why do YOU?”

Katniss doesn’t answer.

"That twirling of the hair around your finger. That biting of your lip."

She rouses herself. "What? How dare you! Fuck off."

"No, I will not fuck off. You were flirting with the suspect in there. It was clear to me, and it sure was – “

She's out the door before she can hear the rest.

“You need to take yourself off this investigation,” Gale yells to her retreating back. “Right now."

* * *

The next day, Gale's still talking about it. "Jesus, did you see where that motherfucker parked? Just because he’s the manager of Ritz Fucking Carlton."

"Gale, could you give it a rest?" Katniss says. She just wants to eat her sandwich in peace. Is that too much to ask?

As soon as she gets home, she shrugs out of her uniform and puts on a T shirt, yoga pants, and sneakers. She's going to run. She steps outside her building: it's not cold, it's not warm. It's just San Francisco. Two homeless people in a tent on her left. She goes right. She runs five blocks on a flat, decides she needs to push herself, so she goes up and up. The burn in her thighs is punishing. She likes it. When she reaches California, she stops and leans over, panting hard. Sweat drips on the sidewalk just beneath her face.

Good. That's good.

She gets that feeling. Someone is watching her. How does she know? She straightens quickly, looks around. But she doesn't see him. She doesn't know if that makes her happy or sad. She heads back to her building. Suddenly, a long white stretch limo veers sharply to the curb. Her pulse picks up, but she jogs by without stopping.

“Detective Everdeen!” he calls out to her as she jogs away. “Katniss! Wait!”

She doesn’t know why she stops. She turns. He’s getting out of the stretch. He’s wearing those pointy Italian leather shoes with laces -- what did Gale call them once? Ferra-fuck-o? And his Oxford button-down, so white and crisp, like he'd just tried it on at Brooks Brothers. That $500 plain white shirt. Oh yeah, that's why Gale was so pissed. That's why Gale wants to nail Suspect A.

“You know I didn’t do it,” he says, when he’s close enough not to yell. “You know. Even if your partner doesn’t.”

He approaches her carefully, as if she's an animal he doesn’t want to startle. The limo sits idling by the curb. She imagines what the driver must think as he watches them. Oh. He must have been on his way somewhere when he'd directed the driver to pull over. For _her_.

_He could be guilty. There is that possibility. He thinks it's a challenge to seduce me._

"What does he have on you?" Peeta says.

That’s what makes her turn and run away from him.


	8. PLENTY OF GUYS

Katniss enters her apartment and takes a long swig from her water bottle. She's furious. She's had plenty of sex. If she needs sex right now, she knows where she can get it. She has Gale's number. And not just his. There are plenty of guys in the department who'd --

No. She can take care of herself. After Cato, she's much better off taking care of herself.

Her shoulders slump. Yeah, if she were being totally honest with herself, she'd have to admit she's thought a few times about entering that sex shop, the one around the corner. It's definitely got a shady vibe, but she overheard one of the women officers, of all people, joking about going there the previous weekend. Funny, she thought that woman was married. Oh, never mind.

What she doesn't want, what she's never wanted, is a boyfriend. And even if hell were to freeze over and she ended up deciding to get herself one, she wouldn't be trolling in the suspect pool. No way. She's not that desperate.

Funny the way he's been popping up all over the place. Is he stalking her?

It's a game. Nothing but. Like him putting his hands on his hips knowing her eyes were going to go there. And now that she's thinking about it . . .

Ugh! No! The last thing she needs is to fixate on the size of a man's package. That's what got her into trouble with Cato. Which is ironic because it turned out Cato didn't have that big a package.

Men, always such disappointments.

She glances idly at the TV, then at the windows behind the TV. There's a large, overgrown bush that blocks passersby from getting a direct look into her living room. She leaves the drapes open in the daytime. Sometimes, at night, too. When the curtains are closed, she feels shut in, almost like she can't breathe.

If she doesn't watch it, she might just end up going to the bar on the corner. It's open till 3 a.m. She's never gone there late. But, with the way she's feeling, today might just end up being her initiation. She bites her lip, then shakes her head. No. She's got to fight those urges. Her eyes go to the knife drawer and she almost reaches for it. Instead, she walks quickly out of the kitchen, opting for a long shower.

* * *

The shower calms her down. Yes, she thinks, this is just what she needed. She wrings her hair out with a towel while she walks to the living room to finish off her night by watching the news. She ends up falling asleep on the couch, the comforting buzz of the TV low in her ear.

She's floating, cocooned in warmth. Someone breathes her name, low. Bursts of color behind her eyelids, but she doesn't want to open her eyes. No, let her dream a bit more. It's a wonderful dream of walking in a birch forest.

_One, two, three! Open your eyes, Katniss. Open your eyes . ._

* * *

"Shouldn't we be digging up more stuff on Lover Boy? Maybe he's on OK Cupid!"

"Shut up. Why'd you always have to be such an asshole?"

Maybe Katniss should ask Plutarch for a transfer. She's got to get out of this precinct.

_But out there, you're being shadowed by someone else, and that doesn't seem to bother you at all. Why is that, Katniss?_

But she also knows Plutarch would never approve a transfer. Not for her. He wants her close, so he can keep an eye on her. She's his quasi-daughter, the only family he has.

She decides she can't afford to make an enemy out of Gale. You never know if he might come in handy one day. She relents and says, "I'm checking up on that victim, you know, that assault in the Westfield Mall last week?" He was still in intensive care. The victim was a waiter who'd come early to open up the kitchen. Someone had jumped him in the stairwell and he'd sustained serious head injuries.

"Simple robbery," Gale says.

"Probably," Katniss says softly. The attacker must have been in the stairwell, hiding there when the mall shut down for the night, at 11 p.m. No one had witnessed the attack except for the man now fighting for his life in Kaiser. It had happened at around 6 a.m. Because at 6:30, another person came in and found the beaten man, practically unconscious. Funny that surveillance videos didn't catch anything? How was that possible? It bugged Katniss.

She gets up from her desk. She's been sitting down too much. She much prefers being out on the street than in here.

"Where are you going?"

"To Market," Katniss says. "The Right to Life protest. Starts in three hours. They're just itching for a confrontation." She needs to be out in the fresh air. She needs to walk, away from this asshole.

"Let me grab my piece. Pairs, remember?"


	9. THE SPARKLING STREETS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrote a new, completely new scene for this. Hope you like, even though short.

He met her . . . where? Peeta's brain fogs. The blonde pulls him against her. What's her name? Kim? Katy? Kandy?

"Come on, Peeta, let's go outside. I want to have fun!"

Peeta laughs. He should be offended, he supposes, but he wants to go outside, too. Sex with this stranger was fun for, like, 30 minutes. But it's been -- a day? More?

"All right, let's shower and take a walk," he says.

The blonde whoops, like some cheerleader.

An hour later, they're walking along the Embarcadero. It's nice, a nice day. A cloudless blue sky. There's the Bay Bridge, what a sight, he's always loved it. He can almost forget about the woman hanging on to his arm.

He notices, with puzzlement, that there are more than the usual number of police out. "Oh!" he says suddenly, remembering. He pulls the blonde to a stop. "There's a parade."

"Oooh!" the woman says, almost jumping up and down. "I love parades!"

"No, it's not that kind of parade," Peeta says, shaking his head. "It's a pro-life parade. See, the nuns there, in that big group?" He points, then grimaces. They're holding up crucifixes.

They're somewhere near Market. The crowd on the sidewalk, a mix of tourists and homeless and techie types, stare at the procession. There's an angry murmur somewhere behind him, and Peeta whirls. Uh-oh. Here come the counter-protesters.

"Let's go back," Peeta says, urgently. "There might be trouble."

But his date doesn't hear him. Peeta's eyes wander the street, his nerves on high alert. What is he looking for? He's looking for . . . something. And then, his eyes land on HER. So that's what he was looking for. His heart almost stops. She's with that cop again. The tall one who looks almost like he might be her brother. But she looks like she's trying to walk away from him. The crowd makes that difficult.

* * *

"You okay?" Gale asks.

 _Asshole_ , Katniss thinks. Why does Gale have to keep asking if she's okay? Makes her feel unhinged.

Gale reaches for her wrist before she can move away. He turns it over and examines it. "Bruises are fading," he murmurs. "Note to Katniss: avoid gyms where trainers get out of hand."

"Yeah," Katniss says, pulling away.

She walks quickly, sees the usual gaggle of tourists, sidewalk vendors, hot dog and falafel stands, homeless. She knows exactly which homeless are from the area, and who are merely "floaters" -- the ones who go from neighborhood to neighborhood, hoping to get the attention of naive tourists. Mostly, she just wants to show herself, to make people know there's law enforcement around, so if anyone gets any funny ideas . . . A few of the homeless even greet her.

This is HER city, Katniss thinks. HERS. She forgets the man beside her. She forgets her irritation. She remembers clubs, and jazz, and smokes in alleys. She did have good times. Sometimes. She's older now, wiser. Maybe her life can be better? Maybe --

Her tension begins to ease. She knows she's a good cop. She thinks back to something ridiculous that happened this week. A call came in about a disturbance on Powell. Turned out to involve several angry women attacking the owner of a bridal store. Turns out the angry women were brides-to-be who had ordered wedding gowns but hadn't received them in time for the wedding. The dresses were expensive: they ranged from $2,000 all the way to $8,000. Katniss can't imagine paying that much for a dress you'd only get to wear once.

Weddings, those are definitely not her.

Just like that, he appears. But this time, he's not alone.

He's got two-day-old scruff. On anyone else it would look unkempt. But on him, it just seems -- hot?

Of course, the woman he's with is gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. Suspect has his arm draped around her shoulders and the way she's leaning into him, with a glassy look in her eyes, probably means they either a) shared a toke just before coming here; b) had a good fuck; or c) both. Probably, Katniss thinks, both.

"Catnip!" Gale says. That makes Suspect A -- Peeta Mellark -- turn his head and see her.

Shit!

Katniss turns quickly and starts walking in the opposite direction, leaving Gale to catch up.

"Hey, I think I just saw -- "

"Yeah, yeah," Katniss says. Her insides are curling, but her voice is flat, dismissive.

Gale gives a low whistle. "That's some armpiece he's got there."

"Yeah, just some bimbo."

"Nice tits," Gale says.

Figures.

Someone calls her name. She doesn't stop.

* * *

"Katniss! Hey, Katniss!" Peeta yells, at the top of his lungs.

The blonde gapes. "Peeta? PEETA????"

Peeta ignores her. He wants to surge forward, but the crowd stops him in his tracks.

"Peeta! Who is that?"

Peeta doesn't look down at her as he answers, "A friend. She's just a friend."

"Yeah?" the blonde says, surly. "That kind of friend."

Peeta laughs. If she knew who Katniss was, she'd think he was crazy. Cops aren't his type of friends. Usually.

The blonde's whining now, about getting a drink or something.

Okay, okay, Peeta thinks. He can do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will change after this, I promise.
> 
> Katniss and Peeta learn something about their feelings, in this moment. And sort of grow up?


	10. AN ARREST

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I squeezed together two chapters from the original. Hope it's not too disjointed!

"Where's my pen?" Gale whines.

"Look with your eyes! I'm having breakfast." Katniss plops her donut and coffee on her desk. That's right, very healthy food. It's a wonder she doesn't gain weight.

"Everyone!" Plutarch suddenly blares. "Into the meeting room. Now!"

Groans rise immediately, from various corners of the room.

"What's happening?" Gale asks. But no one seems to know. They drop their breakfasts, grab their coffee, and head to the meeting room. Plutarch is seated at the head of the table. He isn't smiling. In fact, he looks, to Katniss, rather grim. "What's going on, Plu?" Katniss asks. He ignores her question. _Oooh. That's a bad sign._

"Settle down, everyone!" Plutarch barks. The room quiets. "We're making an arrest in the Eva De Lancey case."

Katniss stares, a bad feeling in her stomach. "So who is it?" she asks.

"It's Peeta Mellark."

 _What?_ She bites her lips together. She's almost sure Gale is watching her.

"We have evidence. Very strong, good evidence," Plutarch continues."A young woman came in this morning and filed a report. She spent two days with the suspect and says he showed some very disturbing behavior."

"What? To whom did she give this evidence?"

Plutarch ignores her question. _Again_. "She'd been banged around."

"By whom? By the suspect?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

There's a low, angry buzzing in the room, a stirring of excitement. "What are we waiting for, then?" Marvel asks.

"Go. He's at the Ritz Carlton."

Chairs are hurriedly pushed back. Katniss rises, too, but Plutarch says, "No. Not you."

Katniss frowns. "Why not me?"

"Katniss, sit down. We don't want anything to get in the way of this arrest."

Katniss's face flushes hot. "What do you mean? How will I be getting in the way?" She looks around her. "Where's Gale?"

Plutarch can't quite meet her eyes.

"You're sending Gale but not me? Plu, this is bullshit."

"Katniss, calm down. Can you listen to yourself . . . "

"You shouldn't send Gale."

"Why not?"

"Because he doesn't like the suspect."

"You have any proof of that?"

"Yes. He's made very negative remarks about the suspect. Very prejudicial remarks, in fact."

There is a long silence. Then Plutarch says, "This is a hot case, as you know. Many people are complaining that we've been too lax, letting a suspect walk, free as a bird . . . "

"I knew it," Katniss hisses. "This arrest. It's all just a public relations stunt. When's the press conference?"

"I am not giving the press conference. That will be handled by our public relations office. Of course. But here's the thing. I want you to look over her statement."

"The witness's statement?"

"Yes. Am I really really not communicating this morning? Yes, the witness, Alison Gaynor's statement. Come with me to the office and I'll hand you the file."

Katniss bites her lip. "Okay," she says.

* * *

When they bring Peeta in, there's a bruise on his face. He doesn't glance at Katniss as he's led, in handcuffs, into a cell. Gale, all swagger, leads him by the arm. Later, Katniss corners him and says, "The suspect. His face is bruised."

"Resisting arrest."

"Did he take a swing at you or something?"

"Look, this all went down very quickly. I don't know why, he just got -- aggressive."

"So he's spending the night in jail."

"Yup!" Gale says flippantly, then walks away.

Katniss heads for the restroom and locks herself in a stall. She leans over and takes deep breaths. She just needs a moment to collect herself. Just a moment.  
  
 _Calm down, girl. You've got to calm down._

She thinks of the scars on her legs. _Tonight, maybe . . ._ She curls her hands into fists. _No. Never again. This city's too full of dead girls. Don't you become one of them.  
_

* * *

The man in the cell is lying down, an arm over his eyes. When he hears her voice, he raises his head. Katniss sees his face. His right cheek is purple.

"Hey," Katniss says.  
  
"What happened?" she asks.

He gets up quickly and approaches the cell bars. She can see the blue of his eyes now. Dimmed, but still intense. He gives her a rueful smile. "Got into a fight," he says.

"You need a doctor," she says.

He sighs. "I don't. I got punched in the face. It's not the first time."

"It's your call," Katniss says, beginning to move away. "I just thought I'd check on you."

"Your partner doesn't like me very much," he says.

Katniss stops and turns. "You don't say."

"I know why."

"Tell me."

"It's because of you."

Katniss knows it's true. But she says, "You're being ridiculous."

"You don't think he likes you? You haven't noticed the way he looks at you?"

Katniss shakes her head. This was a bad idea. "I have to go," she says.

"You know he does. And you feel guilty. You feel responsible. Don't. I'm a big boy."

"Did you hit that woman?"

"He an ex?"

"Stop playing games. Did you hit that woman?"

"I've never hit any woman in my whole life. So, no, I did not hit that woman."

"Do you have any witnesses who can back up your story?"

"No, not really."

"Security cams? Your building must have some."

"True."

"Where'd you meet her? Your hotel?"

"No. I make it a point never to pick up women in my hotel. For obvious reasons."

"So where'd you meet?"

"At a bar. Nice place. I'd been there a few times."

"I'll need you to be a little more specific."

"Lawyer's here," a voice says. Katniss turns quickly. Gale is staring at them. Katniss gives him a look of infinite irritation. Gale turns and slides open the cell bars then says, "What are you doing here, Catnip?"

* * *

The press conference is awful: just absolute crap.

There's a forest of microphones jammed in the face of the public relations rep, Louis Jackson, an older man who looks, frankly, overwhelmed.

The only good to come of this situation is that Gale isn't pestering her any longer, now that he has bigger fish to fry. Such as, making sure everyone knows he was the arresting officer.

Peeta's lawyer gives his own press conference, a few hours later: "The charges are completely baseless. Our client will be proven innocent in due time."

Someone shouts a question: "How is your client holding up?"

"He's doing well," the lawyer says. "He's in good spirits."

"How long do the police intend to keep him locked up?"

"We will be posting bail tomorrow," the lawyer says.

There are questions about the charges, the ones brought by Alison Gaynor, the woman Katniss saw with Peeta, that day on Market Street. The lawyer says those charges are completely false, his client did not physically assault her.

After ten more minutes, the lawyer indicates he's done taking questions. The TV flashes a picture of Peeta. He's staring straight at the camera, his hair is neat, he's wearing a light blue shirt and he's smiling.

That night, for some reason, she dreams of him. When she wakes, she can still hear his dream voice telling her, over and over, "I'm all right, don't worry. I'm all right." And she wonders why it's him telling her, when it should be the other way around.

Plutarch calls another meeting. Katniss sits next to him; Gale stays on the opposite side of the table. Katniss can't bear to even look at him. Plutarch asks Gale to summarize the details of the arrest. Katniss has to struggle not to sneer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way I worked it out in my head was: that girl Peeta took back to his place, she was beat up BY SOMEONE ELSE. Of course our dear Peeta -- even this womanizing Peeta -- would never do such a thing. But his womanizing ways have finally tripped him up.


	11. THE ADDRESS IN THE TENDERLOIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, this whole multi-chap is about abuse: self-abuse, sexual abuse, verbal abuse. That's why this Gale is so extra-nasty. 
> 
> Peeta is not an abuser, just so you know. But he's alive to the danger to Katniss in the precinct -- from her fellow officers.

"My God," Peeta's lawyer says, as Katniss leads Peeta into the room. She keeps a tight hold on Peeta's arm without realizing it.

"You don't need to baby me, you know," Mellark says, low-voiced. Gently, he extricates his arm from Katniss. 

"What did they do to you?" the lawyer says.

"Not much," Peeta mumbles. "Let's just go."

The lawyer turns to Katniss. "You're going to hear from us about this!"

"Let's just go," Peeta says sharply. "I feel like crap. I haven't slept at all." He stops. "Reporters?"

"Out front. My car's in the side alley. This way."

The lawyer brushes brusquely past Katniss. She's nothing to this finely dressed man, just a cop in a disgusting precinct. The two men walk quickly away from her, and she clenches her fists. She hears Peeta say, firmly, "No! No hospitals. I just want to go home."

The two men walk quickly down the corridor, still arguing. Katniss stands there, looking after them, feeling somewhat disgruntled. Well, what'd you expect? Gratitude? From a man like that?

But just before they walk out, Mellark turns his head and sees Katniss still standing there. He says something but she just stares, confused. He shakes his head and says "Just a sec" to his lawyer, who looks at him, stunned.

Mellark walks back to Katniss and places his mouth at her right ear. His smell isn't at all the smell of a man who's been bloodied, who's spent a sleepless night in a jail cell. It's a smell of . . . industrial soap. He must have washed up in his cell before the lawyer came. Christ! She wants to bite his earlobe. "Watch your back, Officer," he whispers. "If you need my help, you know where to find me."

She is so shocked she doesn't have time to react. He, Suspect A, has just given her a warning. Why? But he's already out the door. In the next minute, she hears the squeal of tires. She hurries out the door just in time to see a black Escalade with tinted windows barrel out of the lot.

* * *

  
"Catnip!"

Katniss grits her teeth. She just wanted to get out of there. "Not now, Gale," she says. "I have to go."

"Oh, come on!" he says, planting himself right in front of her. "You must be happy. Your man's gone -- POOF!"

"It's called posting bail."

"Right! I forgot. Thanks. How silly of me."

"What do you want?" Katniss asks, finally stopping.

"I saw what he did just now," Gale says. "If you're that horny, I'm -- "

"You're an ass!" Katniss says, trying to brush past him.

Gale grabs her arm.

"Tonight, Catnip? I'll meet you at your place, we can work out our differences -- "

Katnip yanks her arm out of Gale's grasp and keeps walking.

* * *

  
Katniss looks up at the building in front of her. She's had her finger on the buzzer for almost five minutes. She has the address right, she knows that. She checked and double-checked. When she saw the address, she changed to street clothes (She always has some in the trunk of her car, and in her locker in the department) so she could walk without being harassed. But now, standing in front of the building, she's about to be swarmed. People saying what a sweet bitch she is and what does she want, where does she want it. She pulls a hood over her head and starts walking, fast. A few shadows follow her but they slink away when she clicks the safety off her piece.

That wasn't a residence. It was an abandoned warehouse on the corner of Turk and Leavenworth. It was a drugstore, of the variety she once intimately knew well. She hasn't been there in years, but nothing's changed.

She thinks of the bar where Alison met Peeta. Absinthe, a high-end bar in the Hayes Valley, just around the corner from Davies Symphony Hall. She'd checked it out the other night: High-end clientele, real absinthe at the bar, the Mayor takes his girlfriend there, they have a private table in a corner. Katniss did her best: she dressed up, put on the most expensive outfit she owned, and she still didn't look like she belonged. What was Alison, a girl who lived in the Tenderloin, doing there? Trolling for rich clients, obviously. Clients like Suspect A.

Katniss curls her lip. He should be more careful. But he just can't seem to help himself. Is he lonely? A guy like that . . . She scowls. She doesn't really want to know what they did. But she can imagine.

* * *

Katniss puts her boots up on the coffee table. She nurses a glass of Jack Daniel's in her right hand and groans.

What. A. Day.

She stretches, like a cat. She feels dirty, like she needs to dip herself in bleach. An hour in the Tenderloin will do that to you.

_Glad I didn't see anyone I used to know._

She opens her book, picked up just the other day from a bookstore she'd had her eye on for quite a while. It was on Valencia, and had beautiful hardwood floors and cozy rugs and plenty of seating. She found out later they sold only one kind of book: science fiction. That had blown her mind. She'd asked a saleswoman for a recommendation. The woman had placed a book in her hands, a fat 600 pages. Good.

"That's the first of eight," the woman said. "The ninth is coming out next year."

Katniss had allowed herself a rare smile. Nine books would keep her busy for a long time. "I'll take the first three in the series," she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turk and Leavenworth are in an area of San Francisco known as the Tenderloin -- seedy, down-market. Before the pandemic, it was about to get transformed by high-tech companies like Google. But those plans are on hold for now, so it is what it is: a place for winos, homeless, and drug addicts.


	12. UNDERCOVER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss gets Annie (coroner) to go with her to Absinthe, the bar where Peeta met up with Alison Gaynor (who's since disappeared)

The doorman's a brown guy, Latino or maybe Filipino, so bloated with muscle that he looks almost fat. His eyes light up when he sees Katniss.

"You again?" he laughs. "What's up?"

_Like we know each other. Wonder if you were like this with Peeta's women._

"Hey," Annie says later, when they've gotten their drinks. "I think the doorman likes you."

Katniss snorts. "I was being nice. So he wouldn't bounce me."

"Why would he bounce you?" Annie asks, looking genuinely confused.

"For so obviously not belonging," Katniss says, sipping her cocktail. The screwdriver goes down like juice. _Jesus_.

"You'd have done fine," Annie says, looking around her vaguely. "These people. Are they really San Francisco?"

"I guess," Katniss shrugs. "Don't stare. I want to be inconspicuous."

"Oh, okay," Annie says, dropping her eyes. "Sorry." She touches Katniss's forearm. "I never noticed these before," Annie says softly. Katniss stiffens, but Annie goes on talking. "You didn't invite me along just to have a drink, did you? You're working a case?"

Guilt knots Katniss's stomach. "I'm sorry I wasn't straight with you. Yes, I'm working a case. I thought I would be less conspicuous if there were two of us, you know?"

Annie nods. "Don't be sorry. Anything to help." She points with her chin at a man who's sidled up to the bar.

The man is gorgeous: wavy, reddish-gold hair, a little long over his ears. Intense, green eyes. "Can I talk to the manager?" the man says.

The bartender, like the doorman, is huge. He looks like a character from Guardians of the Galaxy. "And tell him what?" the bartender asks.

"I just think he should know, there are Nazis at this bar. What he does with that information is up to him."

The bartender snorts. "As long as they don't cause any trouble, they've as much a right to be here as you."

"But they're _NAZIs_ ," the green-eyed man insists.

The bartender locks eyes with the handsome man. There's a tense moment. Katniss watches, with bated breath. Then the doorman's gaze shifts, to somewhere behind the green-eyed man. "That your friend?" he asks.

The man looks casually over his shoulder. Katniss follows his glance, then almost gasps. "Yes," the green-eyed man says. His companion saunters up. "Is there a problem?" the newcomer asks. It's Peeta. Annie's face lights up. Katniss wills her to keep her mouth shut. Annie doesn't read minds, apparently, because she says, "Hey, isn't that the -- "

"I didn't come here to drink with the Hitler Youth," Peeta says.

"What did you just say?" says another man. This must have been one of the Nazis Peeta and his friend referred to. He's tall, well over six feet. He's wearing a sleeveless leather jacket. Swastikas are tattooed down both his forearms. "Say that to my face," he tells Peeta, and spits. "Pansy."

Peeta puts his drink carefully down on the bar, then turns to face the man fully. "I'm not, but even if I were, you'd better watch what you call me," he says.

The man smiles. It's an evil smile. "It wasn't that long ago when people didn't let people like you in with the other folk. No perverts or sodomites allowed."

Annie stares. Katniss slides off her tool. Her hand reaches for her piece, hidden beneath her jacket. "Stay here, Annie," she hisses. Damn, she's going to have to out herself. They won't let her in here again, probably.

Peeta stares at the man, not in the least bit afraid. He brings his hands together and slowly cracks his knuckles. "I do martial arts," Peeta says. "I'm a member of the Muaythai Association. You may want to watch your language."

"I don't care what you do, fairy," the man says.

Suddenly, the doorman is there. "That's enough," he says, inserting himself between Peeta and the tattooed man. "You," he says, pointing at the man. "Don't give me a reason."

The tattooed man raises both his hands and starts to back away. "Okay. Me and my friends just wanted a quiet drink. This pansy here -- "

The doorman picks him up, actually picks him up, and gives him a hard shove. "Out," he says. Surprisingly, the tattooed man doesn't protest. Peeta and his friend turn their backs on the scene and lean their elbows on the bar, quietly talking as if the scene that's just transpired has bored them already.

 _So that's how rich people do_ , Katniss thinks.

Her cell pings. Hastily, she reaches into her jacket and reads the text from Annie: **Suspect A has nice friends. I'm so glad you invited me along.  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the previous version, Finnick is the doctor who treats Alison Gaynor for her injuries after she was beaten up by (she claims) Peeta.
> 
> In this version, he and Peeta are friends. Finnick is not a doctor. Alison Gaynor disappears. Annie (coroner) gets a crush on Finnick because of Absinthe.


	13. FROM THOUGHT TO THOUGHT

_Where are you, where are you, Alison Gaynor?_

She's flown the coop, she's disappeared. Turned out her address in the Tenderloin was a fake. Plutarch had to give a press conference: they were dropping the charges against Peeta. And then, loud clamors for Plutarch's resignation from the San Francisco City Council.

Katniss knows it's not fair. Plutarch's a wily politician, though. He has mad-good insider skills. She has no doubt he will survive the furor.

In the meantime, she pounds the pavement, following up on every lead. She can't, won't, think about Peeta. She's had to ask her doctor to prescribe sleeping pills. She'd never done that before. The doctor threw her a sharp look. "I'll write you a prescription for 10," he said. "You still seeing your therapist?"

* * *

By the time she and Annie left Absinthe, it was almost midnight. They both had work the next morning. Katniss was annoyed that they had nothing to show for the night.

She lay awake, going over the events at the bar. In the morning, she felt only a wretched, anguished exhaustion. She made coffee, showered, and dressed for work. When she looked in the mirror, the bags under her eyes were almost as dark as her lashes.

Around 1, Annie stops by her desk. Katniss is having lunch, a burrito from Chipotle. She wipes her hands carefully on a napkin when Annie appears.

"Hey," she says.

"Hey," Annie says. She doesn't say anything more, just stands there.

"What's up?" Katniss asks.

"Didn't get much sleep?" Annie says, a concerned look on her face.

Katniss shakes her head.

"So, last night . . . it was fun. I'd be up to going with you again, if you plan to." She blushes as she says it.

Katniss stares. "Umm. Sure. It was . . . just an idea I had. That maybe I could figure out a pattern for him."

"He's no longer a suspect, right?" Annie says. "I mean, he's been cleared."

"Yeah," Katniss says softly. "He's been cleared. You're right. I keep thinking, there must be some sort of connection, between Eva DeLancey and Alison, you know?"

"Why?" Annie says. "Because they both slept with Peeta?"

This time, it's Katniss who colors. "No, no. Not that. But it's certainly true that he has a type."

"Not necessarily," Annie says thoughtfully. "It's just, you know. MEN."

Katniss is silent.

"Well," Annie says, clearing her throat. "I'll leave you to your work. I just wanted to let you know. If you plan to go again."

"Thanks, Annie," Katniss says, smiling. As Annie turns away, Katniss says, suddenly, "You free tonight?" She's out of practice, but with Annie she can just swing the look of confidence and insouciance a young clubber would have. She remembers the feeling of walking around in something new she'd found at the mall -- a new top or dress, or new sandals. Men would sniff around her immediately. _Shoot, that was a long time ago._

Damn the drinks were expensive in that place, though. She doesn't want to alert Plutarch to what she's doing, so she has to put the tab on her card.

* * *

Katniss thinks it's drugs. She read Alison Gaynor's statement and it was borderline coherent. Having some familiarity herself with a form of addiction, she recognizes the jittery verbal dance of a mind sliding from thought to thought. It's all there, in the written statement.

Maybe Alison woke up in Peeta's apartment and started looking around for drugs. A man like that would have a supply to share with his women. Wouldn't he? They probably did lines of coke together before they --

Katniss stops and frowns. Or maybe she's reading too much into it. Maybe someone else was trying to get to Peeta, and was using Allison. Or maybe Allison was using Peeta, maybe she thought their relationship was transactional: I give you sex, you give me drugs.


	14. WINTERING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Peeta point of view. (It's been awhile since I used his point of view. It was time)
> 
> He's fighting his attraction to Katniss, goes on a dating app.

He's wintering. Peeta usually takes a week or two in Florida. Palm trees, mai tais on the beach.

But now, there's a pandemic. He can't board a plane. He has to stay in San Francisco. It irks him, but not too much.

Lately, he's been thinking a lot of _her_ , Katniss. She unsettles him, somehow. And he's not used to feeling unsettled. He's 32 years old, he's single, he can do what he likes. Right? She's not even that pretty.

There are so many women available to him. He could walk to the lobby of the Ritz Carlton and in under half an hour, he'd have someone wanting him to take her to his suite. Most of the women he's met are easily impressed.

But oh, right. It's hard to impress when there's a mask over your face.

But it's not just the mask. With or without a mask, women see him. Yet, it bores him to think of picking someone up.

He goes on a dating app. He spends hours swiping. One makes him pause: "Looking for some fun." Before, he would have been all over that.

A few minutes later, Peeta sees the woman has updated her profile: "I get tested every week. I got COVID a few months ago."

Hmmm, thinks Peeta. He imagines fucking the woman. He imagines the sex would be hot, dirty, and satisfying.

* * *

He works and works. He likes his job, it keeps him busy and engaged. Hotel occupancy is down 80% all over the city. He reads in the Chronicle that the city is dying.

 _No, it's not_ , Peeta thinks.

He thinks again of Katniss. The last time he saw her was months ago. She seemed extraordinarily nervous, simply to be in his presence. Peeta doesn't need to be with someone that skittish. He has almost 0 tolerance for drama (yet, it follows him around).

He knew she was much younger than him. She's not the type, obviously, who'd date a former suspect. She's into her job. At night, alone in his bed, he thinks of going down on her. He thinks of her giving him a blow job ( _What is this_ , Peeta thinks. He feels a little gross)

Work, work, work.

Someone buzzes him: "Mr. Mellark -- " begins the concierge. Somewhere behind him he hears a woman practically screaming: "My room is shit!"

If she wants to leave, Peeta thinks, she can leave! He can't remember the last time a guest complained about a room. It's not like she's a hostage.

"Fuck!" the woman screams. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

That word, why does it have to be that word?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will still be in Peeta's POV. After he deals with the angry guest, he returns to his room and is plagued with the usual (Katniss-related) insecurities.


	15. FIGHTING IT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how these last two chapters seem, but I'm happy I'm back to writing this story.
> 
> What happened to the case Katniss was working on? Who killed Eva DeLancey and Alison Gaynor? Was it even the same person who killed them?
> 
> Katniss is still on the case. It's just that, writing from Peeta's point of view, his mind would be on *other* things.

Now he's back in his room, after quieting the woman down. He decides to lay off the apps for the rest of the night, just watch some TV.

But then his mind goes _there_ , to _her_ \-- it pisses him off. He takes an Ambien and it works. He begins dozing off. He has a dream of a woman standing over him with whips and chains. It's a nice dream. The woman's a brunette, and her eyes are silver. She's a little small in the chest, but her thighs are firm.

The buzzer goes off. He looks at the time: 6 a.m.

There's a blurred memory from last night's news. COVID, a new strain. Fuck! This shutdown's going to linger. How long can he go without sex? Good question. He's never gone without it THIS long, he knows that. He's tempted to go on-line again but no, no, no.

* * *

What. Is. She. Doing. Here.

He's never seen Katniss in his hotel before. He's on the verge of approaching her when some young guy walks up to her and says, "Bristel!" The woman turns and smiles.

Shit, Peeta thinks. It was a good thing he was still several feet away. He has to go upstairs and take a shower. A long one.

When he does hear from her, it's past 9 p.m. He's just received a DM from someone he met on-line a few days ago. Buttercup. They've been flirting. But when she asks if she can come over, he says no.

He pours himself a glass of wine, starts browsing through movies on Netflix.

His cell pings and he picks up, thinking it's his staff. But it isn't. It's her.

"Hey," she says, then apologizes. "I just need someone to talk to."

"Hey," he says back, feeling his tongue leaden in his mouth. "Talk, I don't mind."

God. It's a good thing this isn't a video call, because the mere sound of her voice makes him hard and he has to shift position and lean back on the couch. He's reacted this way to a few women, but not since he met her. He'll have to see his therapist and confess that he met someone. It's the same therapist Delly made him see, a year into their marriage. After he and Delly divorced, he continued seeing Dr. Aurelius, maybe because it made him feel less guilty.

"I was around your hotel earlier," she says.

"Oh? Next time, ring me and I'll get you a drink."

Silence.

"Coming clean. I'm right downstairs."

"Wait," Peeta says. "Right now?"

"Yes," Katniss says, and half laughs.

"Come on up?"

There's another silence.

"I don't know why, but I think I can trust you," she says.

"I'm not going to do anything to you that you don't want me to do, Katniss," Peeta says. "If you like, we can just talk."

"I'm -- I'm actually terrified. This is wrong, isn't it?"

"No," Peeta says. "It isn't."

"It is," she says, then hangs up.

He doesn't get to the lobby in time. He looks around, asks the security at the main entrance, describes Katniss. They shake their heads. _Come on!_ Peeta thinks. How could she have slipped in and out without anyone noticing? Does he have to pull up the security feeds? But that would be crazy. He's never done that before. Simply because he's desperate for the sight of a woman?

Pathetic. He feels so out of control. Shit, maybe he really will get back on a dating app, get this itch scratched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peeta will NOT end the night with someone else in his bed, despite his frustration.


	16. REAL OR NOT REAL?

While chasing a suspect, Katniss falls flat on her face on the pavement and chips a front tooth. A slight bruise shows on her cheek the next day.

"Sacre bleu!" Gale says, mock fainting with a hand over his heart. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like shit."

She shoves him away from her. She doesn't care how she looks, but it affects suspects. They almost sneer when answering her questions.

The trail for the killers of Eva DeLancey and Alison Gaynor has gone cold as her coffee, and it frustrates her.

There's an explosion in a BART station, the one on 16th and Mission. "We don't know for certain what caused the explosion," Plutarch says at the briefing. "Preliminary observations say an overpressure event."

 _Whatever that means_ , Katniss thinks.

"It's those right-wing conspiracy nuts," Gail announces.

Plutarch sighs. "Corroborating evidence?" he asks.

"Well," Gale says, "their online footprint is pretty large."

"Such as --?" Plutarch says.

Gale leans forward, eager to share what he's found. "There was an uptick in activity on The Daily Stormer Facebook page, starting a few days ago."

"Thank you, Gale," Plutarch says. "Keep on this."

Gale smiles and glances at Katniss. She looks away.

"We'll cover all of this in more detail later," Plutarch says, "but, knowing how rumors fly, I wanted to make certain that you are all aware that changes are coming. We'll need all hands to stay on schedule. If there are any issues, any at all, let me know and I will resolve them."

"I knew something big was going down."

"Meaning?" Plutarch says.

"And, well, the explosion," Gale says.

Plutarch sighs. Katniss rolls her eyes.

The meeting breaks up.

"Hey, Catnip," Gale says, plopping himself down across from her and placing his feet on her desk. "Off," she says, shoving at his long legs. He smells of cigarettes.

He shifts his legs. "Coming to poker night?" Marvel hosts these once a month at his place in the Outer Sunset.

"No," Katniss says, brusquely. "Meeting someone." For once, she's not lying. After that phone call to Peeta, a week ago, she realized she needed to do something about her forlorn social life, or she might end up in former Suspect's bed, and that would not be good at all. Not for the image of the SFPD. Certainly not for her self-respect. Peeta didn't seem annoyed by her call, he probably saw her as a quick hook-up.

So she's meeting someone. She met him at that high-end bar Peeta frequents, Absinthe. She doesn't tell him she's a cop. They'll have a few drinks, then who knows?

* * *

The night's not turning out so bad. He's very direct. OK, maybe he's a little crass. He says, "Let's go back to your place." Katniss tries a light laugh (she's out-of-practice; it startles her date), then says, "Are you always like this?" The man says, "Come on, we could have a lot of fun!" But she's not, after all, willing to go as far as inviting the guy over. They part at the entrance to the bar, he gives her elbow a light squeeze and she leans in and places a chaste kiss on his cheek, he promises he'll "be in touch" but she knows it's the last time she'll see him.

When she's in her apartment, she realizes she's thrilled at the prospect of spending the night alone.

She kicks off her heels, pads barefoot to the kitchen, gets herself a glass and a bottle of scotch (the bottle's almost done, she doesn't know how that happened), sits on the couch, and turns on the TV.

A few minutes later, Peeta sits next to her on the couch. "Sorry it didn't work out with that guy," Peeta says. His tie is undone and his sleeves are rolled partway up to his elbows. She loves it when men roll their shirtsleeves up. Peeta's forearms are thick and hairy. She brushes a hand over his.

"I'm fine," she says. She is suddenly very, very hungry. She's like a teen-ager, lounging around in her pajamas, feeling an intense hunger for bacon.

"I made you a sandwich," Peeta says, handing her a plate.

 _Oh, wow_ , Katniss thinks. _This guy thinks of everything._

"How was your week?"

"No one died, I'm lucky," she says. She leans back on the couch. Why haven't they ever fucked? They have mad good sexual chemistry.

Peeta sighs. "This isn't real," he says.

"I know," Katniss says. She pours him a finger of whiskey. The amber liquid's beautiful in the glass. "Wanna make me come?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no actual knowledge of police work, so all of what I write about the station and Katniss and Gale may be a complete fraud (lol -- Sorry)


End file.
